


The Very Witching Time of Night

by Massiel



Category: A Monster Calls - Patrick Ness
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Massiel/pseuds/Massiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been years since Conor has seen the monster in the shape of a yew tree, but every night at 12:07, he still looks out his bedroom window, hoping to see its lumbering form. When his mother died, he didn’t lose only her – he also lost the tentative friend he had in the monster. One day in his university mythology class, Conor’s professor gives a lecture on the Green Man, and Conor, wanting one last conversation with the monster, attempts to summon him walking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Very Witching Time of Night

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I just have to say -- A Monster Calls is my favorite book in all the world, and I'm incredibly excited to be posting this story today, since it marks a year exactly since I first read the book. Anyway, I hope this doesn't make you cry as much as the book, but I do hope that you enjoy it!

“'Tis now the very witching time of night, / when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out / Contagion to this world.” – Hamlet, Scene II, Act III _,_ Hamlet by William Shakespeare 

“There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, / Which to this day stands single, in the midst / Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore.” – “Yew Trees” by William Wordsworth

“Enough had been thought, and said, and felt, and imagined. It was about time that something should be done.” – _Surprised by Joy_ by C.S. Lewis

 

* * *

 

            The monster no longer showed up just after midnight, as it used to do. It had been years since its final visit, the night his mother died. If Conor was being honest with himself, he would maybe think about the fact that he missed the monster nearly as much as he missed her.

            He might even admit that though he no longer had nightmares, he couldn’t sleep most nights. And that some of those nights, at precisely 12:07 he would get up and walk to his bedroom window. He would stare for a minute, seeing nothing but other university buildings and street lamps, and then return to his bed.

            Even if the monster could come to him again, he was too far away. Conor told himself this most of the nights he felt compelled to look out the window.

            The rest of those nights… Well, Conor couldn’t help but feel that he and the monster had been something akin to friends. A strange pair of friends, to be sure. A pair that didn’t necessarily work. But they were two beings who had understood each other, and by that year when he was thirteen years old, it had been a long time since Conor had had something like that.

            Drowsily, Conor rolled over to check his alarm clock again. It was now about 1:30, and he would really have been irritated if he’d been able to muster up the energy. He’d gotten ready for bed early on purpose because his mythology class was supposed to be beginning a new section the next day. There was going to be a lecture and he was determined to stay awake for it – they were interesting, but the lifestyle of a university student was not conducive to classes beginning at eight o’clock in the morning.

            He swore softly into his pillow and tried to get into a more comfortable position. Consciously, he relaxed his body, slowed his breathing, and all at once, in the way that sleep often creeps up on its victims, he was pulled under.

            The last thing he heard – or maybe only thought he heard – was his name, whisper-quiet, as if it had been breathed by the wind.

 

* * *

 

            “— a face, often made from leaves.”

            Conor immediately perked up in his seat in the back of the lecture hall. He’d seen a face of leaves once before in his lifetime. Was it possible…?

            “The Green Man, as the spirit is often called, is commonly found as the subject of carvings in both churches and other public buildings. He is both a symbol of rebirth and a common theme in literature. Now, I’m not expecting you to know any of these—” Conor’s professor flicked through a series of images on a slideshow, then stopped— “but I think this guy might look familiar?”

            Quite a few of the students laughed; it was a picture of Treebeard the Ent, from _Lord of the Rings._

            Conor didn’t laugh. He cocked his head to one side and studied the picture carefully, comparing it to the yew tree he hadn’t seen come to life in nearly a decade. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t difficult – the image of the monster was so seared into his memory – and while the Ent was perhaps more cartoonish than the monster had been, it was close enough to be a cousin.

            Then his professor said something of great interest.

            “In ancient times, there were cults dedicated to the Green Man, many of whom believed that he was an incarnation of Cernunnos, the Horned God. The Celts especially were fond of attempting to raise him.”

            _Raise him?_ As in… bring him walking? Conor’s mind began to work frantically. If it could be done, if he could figure out how they’d done it…

            Nodding to himself, he sketched out a plan in his mind. He was going to bring the monster walking again.

 

* * *

 

            Usually when his classes ended, Conor was one of the first out the door. He wasn’t one to linger and ask questions. Because it was a first, the professor started when he heard Conor’s voice.

            “Professor Sheehy? Do you have a minute?”

            Once he had recovered from his minor shock, Professor Sheehy responded, “Of course, O’Malley. What can I do for you?”

            “I had a few questions about the Green Man. You said that the ancient Celts tried to summon him. Were they ever successful?”

            Sheehy chuckled. “I suppose that depends on what you mean by successful. If you’re asking if a tree came to life in the shape of a man, I’m sorry to tell you that it’s very unlikely.”

            “What did they do to try to raise him?” Maybe if he just followed the Celts’ example… The yew knew him, there was a possibility that it would work for him.

            “No records exist of that. But it probably took the form of a ritual. Beyond that, there’s no way of knowing. The Celts – the druids in particular – were highly secretive about their ceremonies.” Sheehy peered closely at Conor. “Why the interest in this particular subject, O’Malley?”

            Uncomfortably, Conor shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Just curious. I mean, as to why they thought this great god or whatever would come when they called. And how they thought they could do it.”

            As he said it, he wondered why he thought the monster would listen to _him_. It was as old as the earth, influential, and wise. He, on the other hand, was a young, headstrong and puny human. He had no doubt that the monster would still be able to hang him upside down by one leg if it was irritated with him.

            “I suppose it was a form of arrogance, wasn’t it?”

            Conor avoided his professor’s eyes. “Yes,” he agreed. It was arrogant to believe a god was beholden to you. He was in the process of making the same mistake now.

            But he couldn’t help it. He wanted – no, _needed_ – this. Just one last conversation.

            “I’ll see you on Monday, Professor Sheehy,” he said quickly, retreating from the probing questions that he wasn’t sure how to answer without sounding crazy. “Thanks for your help.”

            Conor could feel the man’s eyes on his back. Knew what he was thinking. Summoning the Green Man was the dumbest idea he’d ever heard, too.

 

* * *

 

            Hours of exhaustive Googling had told Conor what he’d already heard from his professor: no one knew if the Celts had ever been successful in their endeavors. No one knew what steps they’d taken to accomplish it, either.

            Frustrated, he powered down his computer. What a waste of time. He was supposed to have been packing for the weekend; he’d promised his grandmother a visit. They’d been getting along much better lately. He didn’t want to ruin that by being late.

            Only thirty minutes later, he had a haphazardly packed bag and was on the road.

            The town where he used to live was on the way.

            It took him less than a second to make the decision to take a detour.

            He checked the time. About eleven o’clock. He could just call his grandmother, tell her that he’d be much later than he expected and not to wait up. He had a key, after all.

* * *

 

            Conor’s subconscious had timed everything perfectly. He pulled up in front of his old house at 11:50, and was walking up to the tree by midnight.

            Seven minutes to wait.

            And 12:07 came and went without any fanfare.

            Abruptly, Conor began to shout angrily at the tree. “Fine then! Stay like that! I don’t give a damn – I’ve only thought about this for ages and now that I’ve decided that yeah, I want to take that leap, I want to talk to you again, you stay a stupid tree.”

            He felt cheated. He’d come all this way, followed his crazy impulses, and where had it left him? In a town he no longer belonged to, in a cemetery talking to an unresponsive yew tree. He should leave, right now… But he was suddenly exhausted by his outburst, and it really wasn’t all that cold outside. Maybe he could sit down, just for a few minutes.

* * *

 

            Conor awoke and immediately noticed that he was no longer in the position he had been in when he’d fallen asleep. He had been propped up with his back against the tree, knees drawn up, and now he was lying down, being cradled, and that was definitely not grass and knobby tree roots that were underneath him. It was something much softer – Conor lifted a hand to touch and discovered that it was yew leaves.

            The monster had come after all.

            _I have heard your call once again, Conor O’Malley,_ it said, its eyes piercing him. _This is not a thing to be taken lightly. But I do not understand what you desire._

“I – I wanted to talk to you,” Conor said, stuttering. Now that he was face-to-face with the monster, he was seized by a crippling doubt. He was beginning to think this was a disastrous decision.

            _Have you no human friends with whom you can converse?_ the monster queried, and for some reason, Conor felt a pain in his chest. No, he didn’t have too many. He had made numerous acquaintances, but no true friends. No one he could confide in.

            The monster considered this. _It is something you should perhaps consider._

            “Was that sarcasm?” Conor asked, grinning despite himself. “You’re learning.”

            _You have taught me a thing or two, yes,_ the monster admitted. _But it seems you have more yet to learn._ _Now why, why did you call me?_

            Conor tried, in vain, to find the words to explain his plight, but in the end, he settled for a simple, “I missed you.”

            The monster cocked its head. _Why?_

            “Because… You were there at a time in my life where nothing was dependable – except for the fact that you would arrive at 12:07.”

            _You have developed an emotional attachment to me, then?_

            “Humans call it friendship.”

            _And you believe us to be friends?_

            Conor couldn’t decide if the monster meant it to be disdainful or incredulous. “I do.”

            The monster hesitated. _Conor,_ it said hesitantly, _you know I will not reappear again. Not in this form. You may catch a glimpse of me in the future, but I will not know you any longer._

“Will I recognize you?” he asked.

            _You will, I am sure of it. I have only come walking a few times over the millennia, and for you, Conor, I came twice. I believe that that is your friendship. So yes, think of me at this time of night, and keep in mind the truth,_ the monster said.

            “What truth?”

            _I know you can face whatever comes. You can let me go._

            And Conor let go of the one who taught him to do so.


End file.
